Pyro, Iceman, and STDs
by Lady Gloredhel
Summary: John and Bobby are faced with their looming semester-long Sexual Education class. What ensues?


**Disclaimer: **I don't own any marvel characters or any of the X-Men mentioned. I only wish I did.

**Rating: **PG

**Description: **Bobby and John are faced with Sex-Ed Classes. What ensues?

It was the first day of term, and already, Bobby was depressed. The mutants in his grade had received their scheduled classes for this term the day before. To his dismay, he had been stuck with Sex Education. The only bright spot to the future of that class was that Jean was teaching it. No doubt Professor Grey would offer extra credit. Not that Bobby would need it of course. But it was important to have the opportunity at his disposal.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

The alarm on John's clock went off, inevitably ten minutes late. As Bobby rolled over, he suddenly wondered why he was such an ass as to wait for John's clock in the morning. It always made them late. As he pulled the covers back over his head, Bobby vowed then and there to go and fix his alarm clock and set it ten minutes early. That'd get John good. Especially since it was John who had decided to throw the clock into a wall when it went off at one in the morning.

Bobby regretted ever hearing that alarm. He had his pillows in a perfect mashed position for his head, his feet were comfortably sticking out from under the covers a bit to keep them cool, his right arm was curled around another fluffy pillow, and the mattress was comfortably bent just to accommodate Bobby in this position. But that damned alarm clock-

-P BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

A seemingly bodyless hand shot out from under the abundance of covers in John's bed, slammed the 'Snooze' button on the alarm clock, then slunk back into the dark depths between the covers and the mattress. Bobby threw off his covers and rubbed his eyes. That alarm always gave him a headache. Lucky for him, he figured he still had some Ibuprofen in the bathroom. He'd have to check.

Pulling off his pajama shirt and replacing it with a blue 'Orange County Choppers' t-shirt, Bobby was still exhausted. He had been awake all night last night complaining about this stupid required Sex-Ed class to nobody in particular. Bobby was comical in the sense that he was rather stressed about the class. It was definitely not his ideal place to spend fifty-five minutes a day for a term. But regardless, he had no choice.

Opening a drawer in his dresser, Bobby scrounged around in it rapidly.

"John? Have you seen my jeans?"

There was no answer from John's bed aside from the inaudible grunt that Bobby interpreted as a no. So he continued his scavenger hunt for his jeans. He was sure he washed them yesterday. Or had it been the day before? Or possibly the day before that? Three days ago? Well, shit. That sucked. He probably left them downstairs by the washing machine. Eh. Bobby wasn't worried. Nobody would be crazy enough to take a pair of guys jeans that had a huge red stain on the inside.

Bobby laughed, remembering the last time he left his pants down by the washer. Some idiots decided to take them. So when Bobby went back down to get his laundry, his jeans were gone. He found them the next day tied to the mansion staircase with a note attached. Bobby really didn't recall what it said. But he did remember that the gist of it was that nobody wanted to know why a pair of guys pants had a huge red stain on the inside. Inside, not outside. It was from the time John had been writing in red sharpie marker. Jean had told him not to write on the table without something under the paper to keep the ink off of the table. The closest thing John could find was Bobby's clean pants. He turned them inside out and put them under his paper. Unfortunately, the barrel to the Sharpie burst and spilt red ink all over. It bled through the paper and onto Bobby's pants. John had a ball explaining that one (Of course, he did admit that he was not entirely sure how the barrel to a Sharpie could burst).

Snapping back to reality, Bobby realized that he had just wasted fifteen precious minutes reminiscing about red stains in his pants. Shaking his head, he shut the drawer and picked up his Nike running pants that were laying on the floor. Bobby couldn't remember whether or not they were dirty. But because they were black and Bobby couldn't see any major stains or stuff on it, he shrugged and decided to wear them. He pulled them on and began the excavation through his stuff for his socks.

Finally, the abundance of covers on John's bed moved. The covers were thrown off a good three feet across the room and John sat up. His brown hair hung in strands in front of his face and his dark eyes looked almost exhausted as Bobby felt. John managed to pull himself out of bed, although he looked somewhat shaky.

"Hangover?"

John moaned and rubbed his eyes. Bobby interpreted this as a yes. But whether or not John was on a hangover, he managed to pull himself into a pair of black pants, a white T-shirt, his leather jacket, black shoes, and somehow, he managed to find his Zippo, which was hidden under a large mound of dirty clothes. John never did his laundry right away. He normally put it off until he woke up and realized he had no more clean clothes...or at least...no more clean boxers.

By the time John was dressed, Bobby had found his socks, pulled them on, gotten his shoes on, and ran a comb through his hair. John wasted no time. He ran a handful of gel through his hair to take it back, and ran the comb through it about three times. Then off it was.

Bobby sighed as they walked out the door.

"This Sex-Ed shit is so overrated. We learned this already in like, the fifth grade or something."

John didn't answer. He was too busy over-viewing his schedule since he'd been too smashed to do it the night before. Bobby looked over momentarily.

"Whatcha got?"

John smirked.

"Sex-Ed first."

"You and I both. There is no way I am going to stay awake through this class. And the pictures they show! Nasty."

John shrugged, but didn't say anything.

The two made their way down the hallway towards the biology lab where they would have their Sex Ed classes. Stopping at the door, Bobby hesitated. John gave him a wide-eyed look as if to say 'Get your ass in there'. So Bobby went in, trailed by John, both took a seat in the very back row. Surprisingly enough, the two were early. Only two other people were in the classroom at the time: Xian Mahn, and of course, Jean Grey, who was teaching the course. But as they waited, other students filed in and eventually, the class was full.

"Alright," Professor Grey said, standing up, "I'm Professor Jean Grey for all of you who don't know me, and welcome to your Sexual Education class."

A few of the boys sniggered, and Jean cast them a wary look before pressing onwards.

"I'm going to call role. When I call your name, please say 'present' and raise your hand."

She went after her clipboard and begun the role call.

"John Allerdyce? Pyro?"

John raised his hand, but instead of saying 'present', his response was, "Mornin' sunshine."

The whole class sniggered a bit, even Jean.

"Rachel Argosy?"

"Present!"

"Marie D'Ancanto?"

"Present."

They went through role call, until Carol Danvers, Bobby Drake, Thomas Jones, Tamara Kurtz, Esperanza Ling, Xion Mahn, Kitty Pryde, and Jack Winters were all called.

"Kind of a small class," John said quietly.

Bobby nodded in agreement.

Jean opened the class by asking how many of the students in the class had ever engaged in any sexual activity. Nobody did anything. Bobby was doodling on a piece of paper, only partially paying attention, John's head was down and Bobby suspected he was probably asleep.

When nobody raised their hands, Jean went straight into the STD slide show. All it was comprised of was pictures of STDs. Bobby was thoroughly disgusted by the end of the show and felt as if he were about to puke. John however, was fine, as he had pretty much slept through the whole thing. When the show was over, the class was finished, so Bobby and John departed the class, and went their separate ways to their electives. Bobby headed off towards the kitchens for his culinary class, while John strutted off towards the gym wing for his Strength Training class.

The next time they saw each other was the next morning. Their lunch periods were switched, to their dismay, and Bobby had come straight back to his dorm to study for a pre-test he was having in calculus the next day. John however, had been out later and Bobby had been asleep when he had returned.

The next morning, Tuesday, went exactly as the last had been. Alarm clock goes off, Bobby wakes up, John hits 'snooze', Bobby gets ready, John busts his ass to be out the door, they go to Sex- Ed, John falls asleep, Bobby doodles.

The term pretty much continued like this with few alterations. Among the ever changing, was the to-do of every Sex-Ed class. It was everything from Pre-Tests, to tests, to pop-quizzes, to movies, to more disgusting pictures. And every day, to Bobby's sheer disgust, it got harder. He didn't know Sex-Ed could be so tough. So eventually, when grade reports came half-way through, Bobby was happy to learn he had an A. Of course, the first thing he did was brag to John. It only made sense to brag to the flunky. But John didn't say anything. No retaliation, no snide comments. Bobby was surprised, but decided not to push the matter.

During the second term, instead of only being a little harder, Bobby was jolted into reality by failing a test. And as the second term went on, he failed more and more tests, and had to do more and more extra credit to make it up. It was started to exhaust him even more than his calculus class. So he began playing through it as if it were a college class. He brought a tape recorder to record the lessons and took every note he could. He even went in for extra help and did tons of extra credit. And yet, he still noticed that every day, John slept through class. He did his tests, and woke up when he had to do a paper, but he slept through everything else. Bobby found it rather comical to flick paper footballs at him. Fifty points to hit him in the eye. Yes, he had even come up with a scoring system. Although he rarely had the chance to be such a jack-ass with all the notes he was taking.

At the end of the term, grade reports came out on the last day of Sex-Ed. Bobby was devastated to find he had a C-. What the hell?! Walking out of Sex-Ed on the last day, he was talking over it with John.

"I mean, seriously! What the hell?! A C-!? NO WAY! There is no way I could get a C- in Sex-Ed. No way!"

"Well, I don't mean to bust your bubble...no wait...yes I do. Anyway, look again Iceass. You **did** get a C- in Sex-Ed."

Bobby glared at John and looked at John's grade sheet, folded neatly and sitting in John's back pocket of his jeans.

"Well, if I got a C- and actually paid attention, I can't imagine what you got by just sleeping all period."

John didn't say anything. Bobby, being the nosy young lad he is, snatched the grade report out of John's pocket. Opening it, his eyes widened in horror.

"An A!? 105!? WHAT!?"

John smirked as Bobby started to sweat profusely.

"Wha...!? Did you use cliff notes?"

"Nope."

"Did you actually take notes?"

"Nope."

"Recording?"

"Nope."

"Extra help?"

"Nope."

Bobby was horribly confused. How could it be that John Allerdyce had a bonafied A in a class that Bobby had a C- in by sleeping through it? What was going on?

John snatched back his grade report, stuffed it into his back pocket and turned to go down the hall to where Strength Training was. Bobby began shaking his head and walking in the opposite direction to the kitchens. But he suddenly had an afterthought. Turning on his heel, he yelled down the hall after John.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO IT!?"

Without turning around, John replied straight-faced.

"FIRST-HAND EXPIRIENCE."


End file.
